


A Painter's Vision

by MiaSpacey



Category: BLURRYFACE - Twenty One Pilots (Album), Twenty One Pilots
Genre: F/M, Genderbending, M/M, Unreliable Narrator
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-10-30
Updated: 2016-10-30
Packaged: 2018-08-27 21:26:11
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,439
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8417437
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MiaSpacey/pseuds/MiaSpacey
Summary: A genderbent Joshler fic I wrote for school. Tyler Ashley, a painter in the Victorian era, is hired to paint the daughter of the Duke and Duchess. But he finds himself falling for the older sister.





	

October 1, 1817

“Letter for Sir Tyler Ashley?”  
“Yes, that’s me.”

\---

Dear Sir Ashley,

We’ve heard rumors of your paintings. Such talent at such a young age! We would like you to paint a portrait of our daughter for her upcoming 18th birthday. Please arrive at Hayle Manor on October 17, 1817. 

Sincerely,

The Duke and Duchess of Hayle

\---

I set down the letter. The room turned to watercolor. No more shapes. Just abstract colors. The wine red of the carpet leaking onto the strong almond brown of the floorboards. The velvety purple of the curtains holding back the golden sunlight streaming in. The tiny black imperfections of my paintbrushes against the vanilla-cream canvas they rested on. Everything melting together to form one perfect masterpiece.

I wasn’t startled by the sudden turn of medium. In fact, I enjoyed it. I spread my arms wide, as if to further immerse myself in this liquid world I had created. It was beautiful, frankly. Such a shame others couldn’t see it too.

I shook myself out of my dreamy haze. I had a commission. Time to focus.

\---

October 17, 1817

“Oi! What are you doing here?”

“I’m Tyler Ashley, sir. I’m here to paint a portrait of the Duke’s daughter.”

“All right then, lad, off you go.”

\---

“Sir Ashley, I presume?”

“Yes, Sir,” I responded, bowing deeply to the Duke.

The Duke moved a finger, indicating I could resume an upright posture. “Good. Right on schedule. I do hate a tardy service. Right this way.”

I followed him through the corridor into a large day room. There was a woman standing regally in the center of the room. There was a girl applying powder to her face. And, perching precariously on a small alcove, sat a young woman studying a map.

I didn’t pay the other two much heed. My attention was focused on the girl on the alcove. She had deep chicory eyes, the precise color of the lumps of chicory you put in mugs of coffee to keep it feeling strong. The lumps of chicory that you can find anywhere. But, somehow they make the coffee taste like the best thing you’ve ever had.

She wasn’t wearing a wig, like other women her age. What seemed to be her natural hair was long, waist-length long. It was curly, but not the kind of curly that the artificial wigs try to emulate. It was fluffy and soft. It was brown, like her eyes. But as the light from the window hit it, I could have sworn it was fairy floss pink.

“This is my wife, the Duchess of Hayle,” the Duke said, gesturing to the regal woman. “And this is my daughter Genevieve, who you’ll be painting.” 

I bowed to them both. “Ladies. Pleasure to make your acquaintance.” Inside, I was burning to ask the name of the fairy floss girl, but I couldn’t without being impolite to my present company. 

Fortunately, I was spared my affliction. The young woman jumped down from the alcove, her skirts billowing around her as she touched down. It was because of this billowing that I realized she wasn’t wearing a crinoline. Yet another oddity of this strange girl. 

She tucked her rolled-up map behind her. “Father, you can’t just refrain from introducing me simply because I’m not the one who’s getting a portrait,” she said with a teasing smile. Then, her attention was turned to me. “I’m Valen, the older sister. Lovely to meet you.”

“Hello, Lady Valen,” I said. I could see the name come out of my mouth, cobwebs and flies accompanying it. I hadn’t ever said the name before. It was dark green, the L the only exception. That particular letter was golden. A silent treehouse burning in the forest.

“My name is Tyler Ashley,” I said to the noble family. “A thousand thanks for this opportunity. I hope my painting skills will not disappoint.”

\---  
October 24, 1817

“I have finished Genevieve’s portrait, Sir.”

“Very well, boy. Fine work. I’ll have a servant send your payment. Will that be all?”

“Not quite, Sir. I would like to ask your permission to begin courting Valen.”

“Well, boy, you’ve got talent. You’d make a good match. You have my permission.”

“Thank you, Sir. I am honored that you’ve given me this chance.”

\---

Valen had taken a liking to me as well, apparently. She agreed to begin courting me with no argument. With happiness, in fact. She became my muse. With Genevieve’s portrait out of the way, I could finally paint her.

\---

“Why would you want to paint me? I’ve got brown hair, brown eyes. Boring. Not very good for painting.”

“It blows my mind that after all these twenty years you’ve been on Earth, nobody has bothered to tell you your eyes aren’t brown. They’re chicory in dusk light, and rained-on soil at sunrise. When they water, they are copper against honey and most certainly not ‘brown!’”

Silence.

“And your hair is fairy-floss pink.”

\---

November 30, 1817

“Do you see that?”

“There’s nothing there, Tyler.”

“Yes, there is. There’s the sky, and the smoke from the bakery chimney. Do you see how it curls through the sky? It’s like a cloud, but not quite. It’s much more free.”

A pause. “I think I love you, Tyler Ashley.”

\---

January 14, 1819

“Valen? Your parents were crying and I couldn’t find you. Are you all right?”

“Yes, Tyler, I’m fine. But we can’t go back there any more.”

“Whyever not? Don’t you want to go home?”

“You’re my home now.”

\---

September 8, 1820

I hurried through the city, a hood covering my head. Valen was out getting bread. Perfect time to pay her parents a visit. 

She had been adamant about not going to see them for almost two years, and I figured it was high time I found out what had happened.

The guard let me in easily and I went right up to the large metal door that had always reminded me of peppermints. I banged the heavy knocker three times in rapid succession and waited for the owners of the door to open it.

It was the Duchess who opened it. “Sir Ashley? What are you doing here?” she said, confusion written all over her face. “You had best come in.”

She led me to the day room where I had first met Valen and we sat down on a couch. “I’m here to talk about Valen.”

The Duchess’ face crumpled and she started to cry. I could tell she was trying to stop, for my sake. But it wasn’t working. 

“Lady Hayle! What’s wrong? Has something happened?”

“You should know,” Lady Hayle said, wiping her eyes. 

I felt frozen. The world was falling away from me, one piece at a time. Soon, it would only be a dark wasteland with nothing left.

“No, I don’t. Tell me what happened.” 

Lady Hayle looked me straight in the eyes. “Almost two years ago, on January 14, our daughter Valen was walking along the lake. She went too close to the middle and fell in. Genevieve found her body an hour later.”

All the pieces had fallen away now. “What?” I breathed, a sob catching in my throat. “No. There has to be some mistake. I’ve been living with Valen for that whole time.”

My mind raced back to that day. That was the day I had seen her parents crying. Valen was gone for a while, but she had come back.

Hadn’t she?

Lady Hayle’s face was a mess of confusion and fear. “No, that can’t be. She died. Whatever you’re living with, it’s not Valen.”

I didn’t say anything. I just sat there. 

\---

The next thing I knew, I was being picked up by strong hands. “Your arms are like celery stalks,” I giggled. 

I didn’t know how many men carried me. A lot, I bet.

\---

Patient: Tyler Ashley  
Admission date: September 8, 1820  
Hair color: Brown  
Eye color: Brown  
Height: Five feet, ten inches  
Admitted by: Duchess Hayle  
Notes: Patient has been seeing his dead wife since January. He also seems to see things in a different way. Patient has a hard time defining what is real and what isn’t.

\---

October 17, 1820

I saw Valen’s face one more time. Once more. Chicory eyes, fairy floss hair. I heard her voice one more time too. 

“Come sleep in the stone,

And stay lost on your way home.”

\---

Death Notice – Tyler Ashley

This is to inform the Duke and Duchess of Hayle that your son in law, Tyler Ashley, has passed away due to unknown circumstances. The date was October 17, 1820.

\---

**Author's Note:**

> This is written in the style of unreliable narration so YES I KNOW SOME PIECES ARE MISSING. It's supposed to be like that. You're supposed to figure the rest out for yourself. It's like 'The Cask of Amontillado' if you've ever had to read that for school or something. (Also did you notice the bit of Panic! at the Disco I snuck in there?)


End file.
